


weightless

by smallbeans



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Stabbing, hurt ponyboy, knife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-02-27 17:13:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18743449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallbeans/pseuds/smallbeans
Summary: At the end of the rumble, someone pulls a knife on Ponyboy and stabs him in the chest.





	1. only you can

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell I like my favourite characters in pain?

Ponyboy has no idea how he has gotten here. He is knew he wasn’t up for this fight before it even started but now, half way in and every limb aching more than before, he wonders why he just didn’t chuck his pride and stay at home. 

The first punch of the whole brawl had him on the floor, nose gushing and head ringing. He can’t explain every point that happened from then, he doesn’t even know how much time has passed but what he does know is the Greasers are winning.

On the odd moment he’s had a chance to look around, he’s been fuelled by what he see’s: Dally knocking someone down, Soda and Steve working together to pin a Soc on his back, Two-Bit dodging swings, Darry knocking someone on their ass with a single blow.

Pony looks at the Soc in front of him. He's a mean looking guy, big head and big hands. His jacket is muddy from where he must have rolled fighting someone else. His lips are curled up in an animalistic snarl, like a rabid dog. 

He swings, and Pony does what he does best: he dodges it. He talks a step back, then another, he blocks the next swing and takes the chance to get one of his own. He clocks the guy around the side of the head, and Pony feels the force of it in his own knuckles. The guy is barely knocked off his feet, but Pony uses the chance to kick him in the chest and he goes back, sprawling on the floor. 

Pony barely has a second to suck in a breath before something is crashing into his side and tackling him to the floor. They go down with a loud thump of groans, Pony squished against the muddy, wet floor. He's rolled into his back, the wind knocked out of him. The guy grabs him around the throat, squeezing. Tears cloud Pony's vision. He's scrambling for purchase, fists flying for any landing. He hits something, pain vibrating through his hand. The hands around his neck release and he's shoving the weight off his chest immediately, scrambling to his knees, slipping in the mud. 

He ploughs into the Soc, knocking them back down. The Soc struggles, trying to shove Pony off but he's had enough time play fighting with Soda and Two-Bit to know where to sit on someone's chest to hold them down. He closes his fist and brings it down, something heavy and wrong sitting in his stomach. 

He really does hate this. 

He goes to punch again, but he falters, suddenly ashamed of what he's doing. 

He stalls for too long. The Soc below him is weak, but he's still stronger than Pony and one fist to the side of the head has Pony flying to the side and sprawling on his back. 

Black dots are already dancing across his vision when something hard and suddenly collides with the side of his head. 

His vision slams white. He's pretty sure he passes out for a moment because when he gets his senses back, he feels completely disoriented. He doesn't have a moment to catch his scattered senses before something hard and large is crashing down on his ribs and something else is catching him on the side of the head. 

He barely remembers how to breathe. His arms curl up over his head, his legs coming up to defend his ribs. He's on his back like a turtle. He kicks out, praying to catch something. 

His foot collides with something,  _hard_ , and the sound of a crunch fills Pony's ears before a voice-fracking cry. The abuse to his head and ribs stop, but then a pair of hands are hooking under his armpits and dragging him up. He can barely get his feet underneath him. He feels completely paralysed, like he's not inside his own body, like he has no control of the limbs attached to him. He's gasping like he's been underwater, pain abusing every nerve, every muscle spasming and every inch of skin scraped and screaming. Pain absorbs him, consuming him almost completely. 

He gets his eyes to focus. It's hard in the dark, and he is finally aware of something hot and wet running down his neck, tickling his ear. In front of him there is a Soc on the floor, clutching his lower leg. There's another Soc above him, bending down over him. 

Pony has no idea who is behind him, but fear and energy and adrenaline surges through him and without thinking, he inclines his head forward before slamming it back. 

There's a crunch, a cry, and a burst of white that fills Pony's vision. His ears are ringing, his head pulsating in time with the roaring pounding of his heart in his ears. The arms holding him release, and he barely finds the strength to keep himself up instead of collapsing to the floor in a heap. 

He turns around, ignoring the way the world spins, and punches the Soc, who's face is covered with the blood gushing from their broken nose, in the cheek with more force than he knew he could manage. The Soc go down like a ton of bricks, landing hard on their rear-end. 

Pony turns back around. The Soc who’d been caring for his friend with the broken leg is standing straight, but he doesn’t get a chance to come towards Pony before someone is stepping between them, pushing the Soc back by a shove against their shoulder and with their other hand, swinging around with the full momentum of their upper body to punch them, square in the face, so hard their head snaps back before their body can carry the force of it. They're practically knocked off their feet. 

The person in front of him turns to look over their shoulder. 

Pony sighs in relief. "Dally."

"You good?" He asks. 

Pony nods, swallowing thickly. "Yeah. Yeah I'm good."

"Good," Dally claps his shoulder and grins, wolffish and sly. He's loving it, Pony can tell. This is Dally's scene, this is where a hoodlum like him feels alive. 

"Hey, Pony— watch out!"

Pony turns around so fast his feet almost slip in the mud. The guy he head butted is up, and there's another guy next to him. They're both double the size of Ponyboy.

A hand grabs his shoulder and then Dally is standing next to him, jumping up and down like a kid on sugar rush. 

"Tag team 'em, Pone," he shouts, "Let's go!"

Pony doesn't have a second to even contemplate what Dally suggested before he's surging forward and tackling the new, uninjured guy. The Soc Pony had been fighting before dives at him, grabbing him by the throat. He swings one fist at him and Pony manages to block it with his hand.

Two hands enclose around his neck again, holding him in place.

"You broke my nose, you little shit!" The Soc screams.

Pony grins, no idea where the malicious confidence is coming from. "It suits white-trash like you!"

He spits in the Soc’s face like he did Bob. The Soc jerks back, out of shock and disgust, but it gives Pony the chance to drive his knee into the Soc’s abdomen. 

He shoves the Soc off him whiles he’s wounded and turns around to find Dally in a fist match with the Soc he’d dived on to - and it looked, judging by the blood flying from his mouth - like Dally was losing. 

Pony acts on instinct and kicks the Soc in the back of the knees, causing him to lose his balance and give Dally the moment to get the upper hand. He has the Soc down with a single, hard punch and he looks at Pony, grinning with bloody teeth.

"Thanks, man."

Pony nods, feeling almost shaky. He can feel his adrenaline dropping. The excitement of the fight evaporating and the weight sitting heavy in his bones. 

Dally dashes off, tackling a Soc who fighting Steve to the ground.

Pony looks around: the Soc’s are beginning to disburse. The crowd is getting thinner, the fight coming to an end. For a moment, Pony feels a sigh of relief.

"They’re leaving!" Someone shouts.

Pony watches as more and more Soc’s begin to run, stumbling over their feet and slipping in the mud. Some Greasers chase them out of the grass, cat-calling them or barking like rabid dogs.

"Wa-hooo!"

"We won!"

"The Greasers win!"

Pony barely has a moment to indulge in the realisation that the Socs are running away before a guy in front of him is swinging once more, far too fast for Pony to react. He see’s a glimpse of something shiny in their balled fist before something is colliding with his chest and his breath is gone.

 

Darry hates the adrenaline he feels from a fight. He hates the feeling of power and excitement and giddy than runs through him, the way it makes him feel light on his feet. His knuckles are pulsing and his face is bruised. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip to wipe away the blood and feels a slight swell. 

He looks around him, the Greasers are looking worse for wear but the grins on their faces say it all: they are the champions for now. 

Darry is no idiot. He knows this won't change a thing. By tomorrow, everything will be back as it always was with Socs' at the top of the food chain and Greasers down the bottom. This fight won't change a thing, but it's given Darry and his boys the realisation they needed that despite all the Socs' have got, they can't win a damn fist fight. 

The power and the adrenaline wears off quick enough and soon, Darry is in dire need of finding Soda and Pony. He needs to know they're okay, needs to know they didn't get their heads kicked into the dirt. He saw Pony go down a few times, and the kid is already sick from Windrixville so Darry was less than happy when he came along for this. 

He finds Soda instantly: he's jumping up and down with Steve, egging the last Socs' that are scurrying away with their tails between their legs. Soda and Steve are laughing so loud they fill the whole field, making others laugh with relief and pride. 

Darry goes over to them and Soda detaches himself from Steve to jump straight into Darrys arms. 

"We did it, Dar! We fucking did it!" Soda is cheering. "Yeah we did, little man," Darry replies. He pulls back and looks at the middle brother. "Are you okay?"

"I'm flying, man!" Soda shouts, grinning from ear to ear. He really does have the brightest smile out of the three brothers. 

"Okay, champ," Darry grins. "Help me find Pone, will ya."

"He was with Dall last time I saw him," Soda replies, sobering up. He looks around with Darry, who spits Dally instantly. 

"Dally!" He shouts. Dally's alone, wiping blood off his nose as he comes walking back into the park, having been one of the Greasers to manically chase the Socs' away. "Where's Pony?"

"He's over there," Dally shouts back, pointing to the side. His face drops suddenly, and when Darry follows his eye line, he feels his heart stop in his chest. 

Pony is standing, looking down at the knife still sticking out of his chest. Blood runs down beneath it, his t-shirt quickly becoming wet and glossy. 

"Oh my God," Soda whispers. 

"Pony!" Darry screams, beginning to run towards him. Soda follows instantly behind and Darry sees Dally running as well in from the side. 

Ponyboy looks up, and immediately his eyes land on Darry.

"Dar. . ." he croaks, before his legs are buckling and he’s going down. 

Darry feels like he flies through the air when he manages to catch Pony by the shoulders, easing him down, going to the floor with him because the shock psralyses his legs. He cradled Pony against him, arm curled around his back and body splayed out in front of him. 

Darrys eyes are locked on the knife prodding out of Pony's chest, torn through his t-shirt. The already dark fabric looks black, glistening like someone's thrown a jug of water at him. He's gasping like he's panicking, breaths heaving. Against Darry, the oldest brother can feel him trembling. 

"Oh God," Soda sobs, collapsing to his knees on the other side. His hands flutter in the air as if he doesn't know what to do with them. Tears are spread streaming down his face as he rambles, "Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God! Pony, no!"

"You're gonna be okay, little man. Y'hear me? You're gonna be just fine," Darry says. 

Pony lets out a groan, eyes wide with shock.

"We gotta take it out!" Soda cries. 

"No, you fool!" Dally snaps. "If we take the knife out he'll bleed out in minutes!"

"I don't want to bleed out," Pony adds weakly. 

"You're not gonna bleed out, Pony," Darry says. 

"I don't wanna die."

"Don't you dare speak like that," he snaps. "You're not gonna die. Y'hear understand? I won't let you."

"What are you we gonna do?" Soda asks. 

"We need to stop the bleeding," Darry says. He looks up at Steve, "Give me your jacket."

Without hesitation, Steve strips of his jacket and hands it to Darry, who instantly presses it to the skin around the knife. 

Pony gasps, jerking away and quickly Soda and Steve are holding him as Darry presses the jacket against him. 

"Sorry, little man. We gotta do this," Darry says, hating that he's hurting his brother further but it needs to be done if they don't want the grass painted with Pony's blood. 

"I'm sorry," Pony whispers. 

Darry blinks in surprised. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Pony repeats, voice barley strong enough to be above a whisper. He looks awful: skin ashen and white, eyes sunken and lips cracked. There's a split in his lip and bruises forming on his cheekbones and temples from the fight, and blood on the shoulder of his jacket. He's looking directly at Darry, eyes looking into him. "I'm sorry I don't listen, I'm sorry I'm stupid and slow and weak—"

"Pony—" Darry tries. 

"I'm sorry I make you mad," Pony rambles on. "I don't do it on purpose, I promise I don't.

Soda is shaking his head, tears streaming down his bloody cheeks. "Pony, baby, please—"

"I told Johnny I was ready but I'm not," Pony shakes his head, tears trailing down his cheeks. "I'm not ready, Dar. I don't want to die yet."

"You're not gonna die, Ponyboy. You listen to me, kid, I will not let you die tonight," Darry looks up at Dally and shoves him the van keys from his back pocket. "It's parked round the corner, go start it up and bring it here," Dally takes the keys, nodding and dashed off like a shot. "We're going to the hospital now, all right?" He says down to Ponyboy, who nods slowly. 

"Can we move him?" Soda asks. 

"We don't have a choice. We gotta get him help," Darry replies. He shifts so he can hold Pony with an arm around his back and another hooked under his legs. 

"You gotta try not to shift too much, Pony. All right?"

Pony nods, and his blinking is beginning to look alarmingly lethargic. 

Darry lifts him, holding him in his arms and cradled against his chest. Pony gasps and cries out as soon as he's moved, tensing like a rigid board in Darry's arms before he sags limply, whimpering. 

"Sorry, baby," Darry says quickly, "I'm sorry. Just hang in there, okay? We're gonna get you some help."

"Have you got him alright?" Soda asks. Steve's hand is on his shoulder, a touch of reassurance. 

"Yeah, he's light as air," Darry replies, and he makes a mental note in the back of his mind to, when Pony is better, get some more meat on his bones because no 14 year-old should be this light and easy to carry. 

Darry walks quickly, trying not to jostle Pony too much with his strides. Dally comes pealing into the car park, the brakes shrieking from the abuse on them. Steve runs ahead and opens the back passenger doors and helps Darry get situated before sliding Pony across his lap. Soda climbs in beside him, eyes wide and wet. He's sniffing softly, like he's ready to burst into another floor of tears. 

Steve climbs in the front and Two-Bit dives in the back container behind the backseats just as Dally reverses with a rev of the engine and skids down the road. 

The truck jolts and swerves around corners and Dally floors it to the hospital. In the mean time, Darry sits in the back, Pony’s head and shoulders in his lap, his feet in Soda’s. Darry runs a hand through Pony's hair, the strands clumped with mud and damp from the rain, his other hand holding Pony’s hand tightly, the grip back weaker but assuringly there. When Darry pulls his head away from Pony’s hair, there’s fresh blood on his fingers but he doesn’t notice, focusing too much on Pony’s shallow breathing and shaking hands.

"You’re gonna be okay, Pone," Soda is saying, voice low, whispering softly. "You just gotta stay awake, okay, love? You gotta stay with us."

Pony’s eyes are opening and closing very slowly. Lethargic, as if he’s only just woken up from a long, deep sleep. His eyes are unfocused when Darry looks down at him, skin so white he’s practically translucent. His eyes are sunken and bruised with more than just the marks of fists. 

"How’s he doing?" Dally asks from the front. He’s driving the truck faster than Darry has ever risked it, taking corners fast enough to scrape the tires against the uneven tarmac and test the suspension to breaking point, but Darry couldn’t care less. 

Pony needs a hospital, and he needs it now.

"Drive faster, Dally," he says.

The sound of the engine being pushed harder is loud in the back seats as Dally presses the pedal to the floor.

"Take it out," Pony whispers, voice slurring and weak.

Dally looks down at him. 

"What?" Soda asks.

"Take what out, baby?" Darry asks.

"The knife. . . y c’n take the knife out now," Pony murmurs, eyelids heavy as they visibly struggle to stay open. "It d’sn’t hurt anymore."

"Pony. . ." Soda looks up to Darry, face mortified.

"Pony, baby. . ." Darry swallows thickly. "Don’t say that. We’re not taking the knife out."

"It d’sn’t hurt anymore. . ." Pony repeats.

"Ponyboy, shut up!" Dally snaps in the front seat, and Darry’s head snaps up to glare at the teen driving, but when he meets Dally's eyes in the rear-view mirror, he can see the fear in them, the deep-rooted terror he has at the idea of losing Pony. Darry doesn't know where his has come from: if it's always been there and Darry just hasn't noticed it, or if it has come on from something that happened between Johnny killing Bob and the fire at the church. Darry heard from Soda that Dally had been fighting alongside Pony during the fight, most likely watching his back while Darry and Soda couldn't. 

"It's okay, Pone," Soda murmurs. "You're gonna be just fine."

"N't good that it d'sn't hurt," Pony whispers. 

"Nothing about this is good," Darry murmurs, squeezing his hand. Pony squeezes back a moment later, weak but there. "Just hang time, little man. Alright? Don't give up on us now."

Soda sobs and sniffs, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

Darry looks out the front: he's in such a state and the car is moving so fast that he can't even tell where they are. 

"How long, Dally?"

"Not long," Dally replies. "Granted we don't get stopped by the fuzz."

"Don't stop," Darry says. "Whatever happens, don't stop this truck until we're at the hospital."

Dally laughs slightly, nodding. Darry sees his hands tighten on the wheel, bloody knuckles strained under the split skin and dried mud. The truck is making noises of protests as Dally ruins the engine and exhaust and Darry tries not to worry about the idea of the truck breaking down before they get to the hospital. 

Looking out the front window he squeezes Pony’s hand, and when the hand holding his own doesn’t squeeze back, Darry looks down.

Pony’s eyes are shut.

"Pony," he says, squeezing his hand again. Nothing returns. He moves slightly, cupping Pony’s cheek with his other hand, stroking his cold skin. "Pony. Love, open your eyes."

The urgency in his voice catches Soda’s attention, whom was looking out the front at Steve, who’s hand is coming around the side of the chair to squeeze Soda's shoulder. 

"Pony," Soda says, eyes going wide, panic clear. "Pony! Ponyboy! Wake up. W-wake up, baby. Wake up."

Soda's voice cracks on the last word. He breaks down into wails, tears leaving clean traces in the grim and blood on his cheeks. He shakes Pony, who's head lolls in Darry's lap like a rag doll. 

Darry feels sick. His mouth suddenly floods with saliva and his throat constricts. He can't breathe. 

"Dally!" He screams. "How damn long!"

"We're here, we're here," Darry shouts back, his own voice filled with more panic than any of the Greasers have ever heard. 

The car swerves to the side and Dally turns a sharp corner fast and suddenly. Everyone leans from the force of it and moments later the truck is skidding to a stop. It's barely stopped before all four doors are opening and everyone is clambering out. Everyone runs to Darry's door, where he's sliding out and pulling Pony with him. Pony is as limp as a wet noodle: arms and legs swinging lifelessly, head rolling against the arm supporting his neck. His skin is glowing in the moonlight it's so white. 

Darry looks down at him for a split second and instantly, he realises Pony already looks dead. 

He sprints up the hospital steps, the others following close behind. Dally yanks the door open for him and he races inside, Pony in his arms. 

"I need help!" Darry screams. "Please! Someone help! My brothers been stabbed!"

A swarm of nurses and doctors surround Darry like a group of hunting hungry hyenas. Pony is being taken out of his arms and almost on instinct, Darry tries to take him back. 

Sets of hands grab his arms and his shoulders, forcing him to let go. The doctors lay Pony down on the gurney that came out on nowhere. His colourless skin matches the white of the bed and if it wasn't for the blood and dirt on his skin, he'd disappear with the sheets. 

Darry moves to grab his hand, and they begin to pull the gurney away. 

"Hang in there, Pony," he whispers. "You here me? Don't you dare give up."

"Sir, you need to let go," a nurse is saying to him. 

The gurney is being pushed quickly now, disappearing through a set of double doors and a collection of hands and nurses stop Darry from going with him. 

"Let me through, I need to be with my little brother," he says, voice thick. 

"You can't go in there with them," the nurse replies, her voice stern yet kind, sympathetic. She must make the speech a hundred times a day, but yet she still looks at Darry like she cares about the pain he's feeling. "Your brother is I'm critical condition, the doctors are doing everything they can but you need to stay out here so they can do their jobs."

"He. . . " Darry can't getanother word out.

"Is your brother strong?" The nurse asks. 

Darry blinks. "Yes," he whispers, and then he adds, voice certain, "Yes. Yes, he is."

"Good," the nurse nods, smiling. "Then you have less to worry about. Take a seat, I'll let you know anything as soon as I do."

"As soon as," Soda says. 

The nurse looks at him and nods solidly. 

"As soon as."

 

_— tbc._


	2. make me weightless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this has taken me so long! the final chapter is finally here though, and please remember i am not a doctor and almost everything about pony's diagnosis is most likely wrong, but it's fiction so chill out :)
> 
> enjoy! <3

Darry doesn't know how long they sit in the waiting room for. He watches Steve and Soda  opposite him, Soda's eyes red and filled to the brim with tears the whole time, his shoulder so low it's like they're bearing the weight of the whole world on them. He watches Steve keep glancing to his best friend beside him, looking completely lost on how to help.

Two-bit is beside Darry, Dally having gone off to see Johnny, make sure he's alright and let him know what's going on. Darry knows he should go too, but he can't force himself to move, let alone try to talk to someone. He loves Johnny like his own blood, but right now he's not as Pony is, and Pony is his top priority, his only brain thought. They're all silent, grave as if Pony has already gone. 

Darry gets up, his own thoughts bothering him. He can't just sit around, that's not how he works. He's a do-er, and things need to be done. 

He crouches in front of Soda, who slowly raises his head when he notices someone in front of him. Darry smiles, forcing his lips to move upwards as much as he can. He rubs Soda's shoulder with one hand, tracing the solid slope of muscle. 

"He's gonna be okay," Darry says. "You gotta believe in him, little brother. He's a fighter, always has been. He won't leave us, you know he won't hurt us like that."

"He might not have a choice," Soda whispers brokenly. "He wouldn't open his eyes, Darry."

"And he'll open them again," Darry replies quickly and certainly. He has his own doubts, but he can't reveal them to Soda. So needs some reassurance, an anchor to keep him grounded so he doesn't float away with his thoughts and worries. Darry is prepared to be that anchor. 

"Why don't you go and get something to eat," Darry says after a long minute of rubbing circles on Soda's skin. "Get something to drink and clean yourself up, make yourself feel a bit more human."

Soda nods, eyes unfocused and unseeing. His lower lip wobbles and he drags in a shaky breath. 

"Soda," Darry says, cupping his cheek. His younger brothers eyes slowly lift from the place on the floor they'd been staring at to meet Darry's own. Darry hasn't always been the best with words, but he hopes Soda can read in his eyes what he's trying to say. 

"Okay," Soda whispers. Then he nods, more firmly and sniffs. "Okay. I'll. . . okay."

"Okay," Darry murmurs, and he stands and steps back as Soda rises slowly to his feet. Darry looks at Steve, "Stay with him."

"Of course," Steve replies instantly, standing too. "Come find us if you hear anything."

"I will."

Steve holds Soda with an arm around his shoulder as they slowly make their way down the hall. 

Darry watches them go, arms dangling at his sides and chest tight. 

He resists the urge to jump when someone comes to stand behind him. 

"You alright, big guy?" Two-Bit asks.

Darry looks down and breathes slowly through his nose. Soda won't be able to handle losing Pony, not after their parents. Sometimes Darry thinks losing their parents affected Soda as much as Pony. To begin with, Pony was physical about his grief. He cried, he wailed, he tried to fight Soda and Darry when they told him what happened. But Pony very quickly went introvert. He curled in on himself more than he was before. He got lost on his head, he lost weight, he lost a spark in his eye. Soda continued as normal, he cried and grieved with Darry, but eventually he got back up and kept as it always was. He went to work, he laughed with Steve, he played with Pony. If someone looked in from the outside, they wouldn't point to Soda as a grieving, death-affected child like they might Pony. 

But losing Pony, losing the person Soda unconsciously leaned on when times got tough or the weight on his shoulders got a little to heavy to handle alone. Soda needs Pony as much as Pony needs Soda. 

Soda definitely won't be able to handle losing Pony, but Darry knows he won't either.

"Of course I am," Darry finally replies, looking up and meeting the shorter mans gaze. "You should go and find Dally, make sure him and Johnny are okay."

Two-Bit looks up at him, his expression unsure and hesitant. "Are you sure, buddy? Sure you don't want me to stay here with you?"

Darry nods firmly. "I'm fine, Two-Bit. Really. Go, make sure Johnny's alright."

"Okay," Two-Bit nods. "Alright, man."

He squeezes Darry’s shoulder before walking away. Darry has to take a moment to process a time where Two-Bit isn’t cracking a joke or cackling a manic laughter. He’s sober, stone-cold sober, and it shows.

Darry drops down heavily into the chair again. His mind is swirling, head spinning. He feels sick, but he also feels empty.

He knows Soda won’t be able to handle losing Ponyboy, but Darry remembers that neither will he. Ever since the fire, ever since he hit Pony and started the domino effect of catastrophic events that have led to a Soc dead, Johnny in hospital and Pony a jury court away from being taken into care, Darry has had a pit of guilt heavy in his stomach. Every time he’s looked at Pony, he remembers the look of horror and fear in his eyes when he looked up at Darry that night, sprawled on the floor from the force of the hit. He remembers the way Pony looked at him like he didn’t recognise the person standing above him. Darry’s apologised, but he doesn’t think Pony will ever be able to forget what he did, forget the line he crossed. There’s no going back, there’s no undoing what he’d done to Pony. Something between them, something that had been resting on very thin ice, a very tight string finally snapped and broke and there was nothing Darry could do to mend the gap between them. It had been growing since their parents died. Darry was coming down too hard on Pony and Pony was pushing too hard back. They could never find middle ground, never a night without an argument, never an instruction without a sigh in return. Everything Darry did only made Pony more distant from him, and while Pony has been distant from everyone since Windrixville, he has been especially to Darry. 

_I'm sorry I don't listen._

_I'm sorry I'm stupid and slow and weak._

_I'm sorry I make you mad._

_I told Johnny I was ready but I'm not._

_I don't want to die yet._

He replays what Pony said in his head. He can hear the emotion in his tone, the way he was choked up and not from the pain in his chest. He was scared, he was scared he wasn't going to have time to mend the bridges between them before it was too late. 

_I told Johnny I was ready but I'm not._

_I don't want to die yet._

Darry closes his eyes. Pony wasn't ready to die, Darry has to tell himself over and over and over. He doesn't want to leave him and Soda. 

That's all that matters right now.

Darry looks up at the sound of footsteps. Dally is wandering down the corridor towards him, posture careless and nonchalant like it always is with Dallas Winston. 

The hoodlum teen drops down beside him, his legs stretched out across the corridor floor. 

"Two-Bits still with Johnny," he says. 

Darry nods. "Good."

"Johnny's having a panic," Dally goes on. "He's worries for Pony. Kid tried getting up, said he wants to be with us and see Pony," he laughs, "Absolute mad man for wanting to get up with a broken back."

Darry doesn't laugh or reply. He just nods, eyes locked on a spot on the hospital floor. 

"I saw Soda and Steve in the cafeteria. Steve looked like he needs a damn shower, though I suppose we all do. Nurse gave me a shirt too, and she tried to get me back into bed but she soon backed off."

"You should still be in hospital," Darry says. "You haven't been discharged yet."

"Nah, nothing more healing than winning a brawl, am I right?" Dally laughs. "Man, could do with a damn cancer stick, though. Normally rely on Johnny or Pony to have one."

Dally thinks about Pony's smoking, a habit he so wished he could have steered his younger brother to avoid but the youngest Curtis got his grubby hands on before Darry could even think about having a talk with him. He supposed at the time there was nothing he could say: almost all the Greasers they hang around with smoke, Dally and Two-Bit especially and there the two who Pony and Johnny seem to spend the most time with. 

"Why do you hang out with Pony?"

Dally looks at him in surprise. "I. . . what?"

"Why do you hang around with Pony?" Darry repeats. "Pony and Johnny, if you're not with ? you're with them. Why?"

Dally opens his mouth a few times, clearly trying to find the right words - or stall. 

"They're more interesting than most people I know," Dally tries, and then he throws his hands up, "I don't know, man. Stop making me sound like a creepy daddy hanging around with kids. They ain't kids anymore."

"Pony is only 14."

"You and I both know your brother is older than other 14 year olds," Dally says, leaning back into the uncomfortable wood of the chair. "Johnny and Pony, they're different ages but the same."

"He's so smart," Darry whispers, more to himself than to Dally. "He's so damn smart, and he throws it away by flunking school and skipping homework. He could be so much better than us, but he just. . ."

"You gotta give the kid a break, Darry," Dally says. "He's different from us. I bet he'll pass school even if he doesn't turn up. We all know he's smart, everyone in his school knows he's smart and believe it or not, he looks smarter coming from a place like this. They don't expect Greasers to be aceing school work like Pony does. Give him some space, let him get into a few fist fights or walk around town or watch the clouds or whatever he does."

Darry is shocked speechless by Dally's speech, and the hoodlum looks across at him with a grave expression. 

"You're gonna lose him before you have him, man, if you keep treating him like this. Don't make him feel different, he already does. He wants to fit in with us, and he can do that as well as college if you'd just let him. Making him hate you isn't gonna get him ocollege, it's gonna drive him away, it's gonna send him to New York where he'll do anything to defy you, to prove to you," Dally's eyes go dark, almost scared. "You know what New York can do to a person. You don't want that to happen to Ponyboy."

"No," Darry whispers. "I don't want that."

"Good," Dally winks at him. "Besides, like I said, Pony ain't stupid, and he ain't a fighter. Let him have his fun, have his taste of a Greasers life, and he'll come running back to homework and school in no time."

"You know him so well," Darry murmurs. "He doesn't really speak to us anymore. Well, not to me."

Dally rubs his shoulder. "He's scared of disappointing you, man. He just wants to make you proud."

"He'll make me proud by going to school."

Dally laughs, but silence soon falls between them. 

Another thing plays on Darry's mind. 

"Thank you for protecting him during the rumble," he says. 

Dally looks up from where he was looking down the hall at a nurse. "No problem, but the kid was good at holding his own. We tag-teamed." 

"You. . . tag-teamed?"

Dally grins. "Kids got a good swing. Probably broke all of his fingers in the process, but still."

"I don't think I've ever seen him really fight," Darry murmurs, "Not like he would have been fighting tonight."

"Kid will never be a fighter, not like some of us. But he can hold his own, and that's all that matters to you Curtis', right?"

Darry agrees that Pony should be able to hold his own, to stand his ground and not get his ass handed to him doing it, but any idea of Pony fighting makes his chest constrict. 

Darry had no idea Dally felt these things for Pony. He had no idea anyone in the gang, apart from Darry and Soda and Johnny, really cared that much about the youngest Greaser. 

A hand claps him on the shoulder, startling him out of his spiralling thoughts. He jerks, looking at the male beside him. Dally grins, originally wolffish and smug.

"Stop thinking so hard, man. You'll hurt yourself."

"What did you just—"

Darry didn't need to finish. Dally launches himself straight from the chair the moment the annoyed glare of surprises flashes across Darry's face. There's a feeling in his chest knowing Dally, for all of his spine, is still too afraid to cross Darry. 

"Man," Dally whistles, adjusting his jacket.

Darry guesses he’s about to say something by the way he turns towards Darry, but he doesn’t have a chance as the door to the long corridor Darry and the others weren’t allowed down opens and a nurse in blue scrubs comes walking out. They look around, quickly finding Darry and Dally and comes straight over.

Darry’s heart is in his throat. He’s unable to speak, despite as much as he wants to ask what the hell is happening.

"Family of Pony?"

Darry nods numbly. "Ponyboy," he corrects. "Is he. . . is he okay?"

"He’s currently in surgery. They’ve had to take him into theatre to fix the internal damage—"

"Internal damage?"

"Yes. I’m really sorry, I don’t have time to explain right now. I just wanted to come out and let you know that’s what’s happening," the nurse explains, ringing her hands together and looking between the two. 

"Is—" Darry swallows, throat too thick to talk.

Dally claps and squeezes his shoulder.

"Is he going to be okay?" Dally asks for him. Darry silently thanks him.

The nurse looks between the two of them. "It’s too soon to say. The doctor will explain more when he’s out—"

"What do you mean, too soon to say?" Darry’s voice is high with panic and hysteria.

The nurse looks him in the eye. "Just remember how strong he is," she says, and then she’s turning and dashing back out through the doors.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Dally shouts, starting as if to chase after her. 

Darry sinks into the chair.

_ Too soon to say . _

_ Too soon to say . _

_ Too soon to say . _

It repeats in his head like a broken, pitchy record. Darry can’t think of anything else. His whole head is consumed by the four, simple but world-crashing words.

_Too soon to say._

_Too soon to—_

"Darry." 

He blinks from where his unseeing eyes were locked on the floor and looks up. Dally is crouching in front of him, the look of worry feign on his face.

"Darry, man, it’s okay," Dally says, nodding as if to add confirmation to his words. "Nothing she said was certain. She’s just a nurse, she don’t know glory. Pony’s gonna make it, we all know he will. Kids strong, he ain’t gonna give up on you or Soda. Don’t listen to 'em."

Darry closes his eyes and breathes slowly through his nose. "I know. They just— I know."

Dally’s hand is back on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. The touch is grounding— more grounding that Darry would have expected it coming from Dally of all people. 

"Thanks," Darry says. "Thanks for being here. You. . . I appreciate you caring about Pony."

"Course, man. For Pony, and for you and Soda. We’re family right? Greasers. No one goes down alone."

Darry smiles. 

"Look, man, I’m gonna go back to Johnny, see if the little man is alright," Dally stands up, looking down at him. "D’you wanna come or go to find the others? They’re probably still getting food."

Darry rubs his eyes. He feels wrung out, like a scooped out Jack O’ Lantern.

"I’ll go and see the others in the cafeteria," he says. "I should make sure Soda’s alright." 

"Okay, big man," Dally nods, wandering down the hall.

Darry sits there for a few more minutes before he can force himself to move away from the doors Pony disappeared through.

He feels like he’s navigating his way through a maze as he makes his way to the hospital cafeteria, though at the same time, the moments in the corridors and the stairs glaze by like a dream he doesn’t remember. 

Steve and Soda are sitting at a table, facing opposite one another. Soda has his head in his hands, and Steve is munching on a packet of chocolate between them. Steve spots him the moment he walks in, and he says something to Soda that makes the middle Curtis brother look up and over his shoulder.

Darry forces a smile on his face as he approaches them, placing a hand on Soda’s shoulder and squeezing in the most assuring way that he can as he sits down beside him. 

"Any news?" Soda asks.

Darry shakes his head. "Nothing. A nurse came to tell us that they’re still with him."

"Glory," Soda whispers, dropping his head in his hands again.

"Hey," Darry squeezes his shoulder again. "Hey, baby, don’t think like that. No news is good news, you understand?"

Soda nods, but he doesn’t look up, so Darry wraps his arm entirely around his shoulders and pulls his younger brother into his side.

"It’s going to be okay, y’hear me?" He murmurs softly into Soda’s hair. "We’re all gonna be just fine."

Soda nods again, resting against Darry easily. Darry kisses Soda’s hair and looks across at Steve, who is watching them. The younger man nods in affirmative.

They’re gonna be okay.

 

Darry doesn’t know how long they wait. It feels like a lifetime before the nurse comes out of the double doors once more, a doctor in scrubs by her side. Darry stands up, his hands shaking in trepidation.

"Is he. . .?"

The nurse nods. "You’re right, your brother is one strong kid."

The relief that floods through Darry almost knocks him on his ass.

"This is Doctor Malone. He was the surgeon for your brother. He’s going to tell you all you need to know, then you can see your brother," the nurse says before she’s walking back through the double doors.

"You’re brother is very lucky you got him here as fast as you did," the doctor greets. "It was a close shave, we lost him twice and he has a long road of recovery, but he’s going to pull through. The knife punctured his left lung, which caused it to collapse but we have re-inflated it and he is on a ventilator to help him breathe but I believe, judging by how well he’s doing now, he won’t need it after he wakes up. He was fairly banged up, a few fractured ribs and his right hand is broken so we’ve casted that and he’ll have to come back in a few weeks to get it taken on. He has a severe concussion, we noticed a laceration on the side of his head that we have stitched up. I am not worried about brain damage, his brain activity appears normal so there is nothing flagging up there. Other than his lung, to which we are going to be closely monitoring, he should be fine when he wakes up."

Darry didn’t hear anything after the doctor said  _he’s going to pull through_ . That’s all his mind could process, repeating the five words like a broken mantra.

_He’s going to pull through._

_He’s going to pull through._

"Can we see him?" Soda asks.

The doctor nods. "Two at a time. He’s still sleeping, and he might be for a while. A nurse will come in shortly to check his condition, but if we wakes up while you’re there do not be worried if he is groggy or disorientated. He’s in Room 4 when you’re ready."

"Thanks, Doc," Steve says, and the man nods before walking away.

Two-Bit stands up, "I’m going to go and tell Dally what the Doc said."

"Thanks, Two-Bit," Dally manages, his mind still reeling. 

Steve looks at the two brothers. "You two should go in."

Soda has still not stood up. He’s swallowing audibly, eyes on the doors, looking at them as if the space beyond is something terrifying. Dally supposes it is.

"You coming, Soda?" He asks.His younger brother has gone a shade paler since the doctor spoke.

Soda nods, but still doesn’t move.

"Hey," Dally says, kneeling down in front of him, forcing him with a hand on his knee to meet his eyes. "What did I tell you earlier? Everything’s gonna be okay. The Doc said he’s fine, he’s pulled through. He’s still with us, Soda. He’s fighting to stay with us, so when you see him, don’t forget that, okay?"

Soda nods again. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, deep enough that his whole body moves with it. When he opens them again, they’re clearer.

"Okay," he whispers, and then stronger, he says, "Okay. Let’s go."

Darry nods, standing up. He looks "down the hall, then to Steve, "Come in too. One more person can’t cause that much more of a fuss."

"You sure?" Steve asks. "I don’t want to get you two kicked out."

"You’re family too," Darry replies.  Soda needs you , goes unsaid but they both hear it.

Steve nods, squeezing Soda’s shoulder as they both stand and follow Darry though the double doors. 

Room 4 is no hardship too find, but through the window, when Darry see’s the bed, his breath is knocked out of his lungs like he’s been winded.

Ponyboy looks small. Darry doesn’t think he’s ever seen his brother look so small. His skin is so pale he blends in with the white sheets around him, the blue blanket at the foot of the bed standing out stark. Monitors and wires attach to his small body, the tube going down his throat making a rasping sound when it helps him breathe. His eyes are closed, and while Darry wasn’t expecting to find them open, he wants nothing more than to see those green eyes looking at him again, shining like they used to when he was younger.

Darry moves slowly around the bed, the beeping of the heart monitor and the whirling of the ventilator the only noise. Soda is glued to Steve’s side on the other side of the bed, and Steve pushes Soda gently into the chair beside the bed before he had the chance to fall down.

Darry can’t take his eyes off his brother. His lips are colourless, his cheeks are bruised and marked from the fight, underneath his eyes are shadows as if he hasn’t slept in months, but he is  _alive_ . He’s living, he’s breathing, he’s still  there  and that’s all Darry can focus on.

He sinks into a chair, reaching out and carefully taking one of Pony’s hand in his own. His skin is cold, but warmer than it was in the field when he was covered in mud and bleeding out in Darry’s lap. 

He rubs his thumb over the prodding bone of his wrist, over his rough and scraped knuckles. Dally was right: Pony must have landed some hard hits to cause this much damage. 

"Shit," Soda whispers. Darry manages to tear his eyes away from Pony’s sleeping face long enough to see the tears in Soda's eyes. 

Darry has always considered his younger brother to be sensitive. They often played good-cop/bad-cop with Pony, almost never intentionally. Soda was the middle man, the cross-roads between Pony's actions and Darry's consequences. 

Pony thinks the world of Soda, but Darry is starting to think he's underestimated just how much Pony means to Soda. 

"He's okay," Steve murmurs, rubbing Soda's arm, but his eyes are too on Pony. He looks pained, and not just for Soda. "He's gonna be okay."

After a pregnant pause of silence between the three, the door bursts open and Dally and Two-Bit stumble in, both panting. Their eyes instantly find the bed. 

"Damn," Two-Bit breathes. He looks between Darry and Soda, "Is he. . .?"

"Doc said he's gonna be fine," Darry replies. He still hasn't let go of Pony's hand. "He. . . it's bad, but he's going to be fine."

Two-Bit nods, his breath coming easier. 

"Johnny knows," Dally says, coming to stand at the foot of the bed while Two-Bit stands over Darry's shoulder. The room feels smaller with the five of them in, yet it feels bigger, brighter. 

"How's he doing?" Steve asks. 

"Real good," Dally grins. "His legs are gonna be as useful a goldfish-walker, but they reckon he's gonna be real fine."

"Good," Darry nods. He isn't ashamed that in his panic for Pony he's forgotten about Johnny, but now he knows Pony is okay, now he can see and feel and hear him  alive , he can to be happy and relieved that Johnny is still pulling through. 

"When'd they reckon he'll wake up?" Dally asks. 

Darry shrugs one shoulder. "They didn't say."

So they wait, and Darry doesn't let go of Pony's lax hand. 

 

Darry has lost all sense of time since being in the hospital, but he doesn't think it's long before the fingers against his palm twitch and the beeping on the heart monitor speed up. 

A nurse has already been in, scolded them for all being in the room and quickly let it go the moment she saw Soda's devastated face when she suggested they all left. She checked Pony, assuring them the whole way that he is was doing fine, that he'd wake soon. 

And he did. 

Darry is tired but far from falling asleep when he's alarmed into sitting straight. He looks from the hand to Pony's face. He tightens his grip on the younger boys cold, thin fingers, moving closer on the bed. 

"Pone," he murmurs softly. 

"Is he waking up?" Soda asks, moving too from where he'd slouched over. 

Darry just ignores him, too focused, too desperate, and says, "Pony, baby, come on."

"Pony," Soda cries, tears gathering in his eyes once more but he's smiling, grinning stupidly. "Wake up, baby."

Around the breathing tube, Pony makes a gargling noise, his eyes fluttering, before he's choking. 

His body seizes, eyes snapping open, struggling. 

He can't breathe, Darry realises. He can't  _breathe_ . 

He's about to scream, to get up and run, to get someone who can help, when the door behind them bursts open and two nurses come dashing in. They shove their way to either side of the bed, one of them lifting Pony into a sitting position and the other doing something on the machine. 

"Get out, boys. Everyone out," the nurse demands. 

"We're not leaving him," Soda says before Darry can try. 

The nurse doesn't look at them when she says, "Fine, but stand by the door and stay out of the way."

"Pony, honey," the other nurse says. "We need to pull the tube out. When we do, it's going to be scary and you're going to have to breathe on your own when it's out. Okay?"

Darry doesn't know if they wait for Pony to respond in some way, but barely a second later they're pulling the tube out and Pony is making an awful suffocating sound. He coughs, loud and hacking when it's out. One nurse takes the tube and the ventilator, the other nurse rubs Pony's back, speaking to him too softly for them to hear.

Darry doesn't think he's going to do it. Pony's face is red with struggle, his eyes huge on his face, almost bulging. 

And then, the room is filled with the sound of a ragged, trembling but deep breath being drawn in. And then another, and another, each one deeper and stronger.

"There we go," the nurse smiles. "Not pleasant, huh?"

Pony drags in a few more breathes before he's looking up. He looks like hell: skinny to the bone, pale as snow. His lips are as white as his skin and chapped, a split welt on one side. He's bruised and his hair is covered in that scary head bandage, but he's awake and he's staring right at Darry.

"Darry," Pony rasps and damn, he truly sounds  awful . The word sounds like they were grating against Pony's throat, like nails being scraped against a chalkboard.

Darry feels his anger crumble, the panic that his brother was choking diminishes and he softens, melts like a globe of ice cream on a hot plate. 

He practically collapses into the bed, knees weak. He cups Pony's face, hot tears burning his own eyes. His brother, his big, wide, curious green eyes stare back at him. Now they're confused, hurt, worried, but they're open and they're  _alive_ . That's all that matters to Darry.

"Glory, kid," he almost sobs. "Don't do that again. Y'hear me? Don't you dare scare me like that again."

"Dar," Pony repeats, and he doesn't sound any better but part of Darry wants to believe he sounds stronger. Darry can see in his eyes he's tired and out of it. The drugs haven't completely worn off. He's spacing and frowning like he has no idea what is going on. Darry reminds himself that this is what the doctor warned them about.

A hand cups the one holding Pony's cheek. It's cold and small but it's there. Darry grabs it, squeezes gently but firmly. The weak squeeze back settles something in his stomach.

"What. . ." Pony starts, but he's quickly cut off by a dry, choked cough.

"He's probably thirsty," the nurse says beside him, and Darry had forgotten they were there. She hands him a plastic cup of water with a straw. "Here, let him have a drink first."

Darry takes it and helps Pony get the straw in his mouth.

"Small sips, honey," the nurse says softly. She looks around the room at the other boys. The other nurse has already made their leave with the tube and the ventilator trolley. "A doctor will be in in a moment to speak to Pony. Take it easy with him, he's going to be confused for a few minutes. Lay him back down when he's finished drinking, and be gentle."

And with that, she shimmies through them and goes out of the door.

Soda moves like a jerk. He comes towards the bed, sits on the edge, smile so big it could split his face.

"Pony, baby," he says, voice watery but Darry knows it's the good kind. They're the same tears in his own eyes: relief. "Are you feeling okay? D'you need anything?"

"The Soc's," Pony murmurs, voice slurring as if sleepy. "The fight. . . are they. . ."

"We won, baby," Soda smiles as him and Darry help lay him back down against the pillows. "We kicked those Soc asses into next week."

Pony nods and looks down at his arm, frowning at the cast. His eyes move down to chest, his hand coming up to hover over it. 

"I got stabbed," he murmurs.

Soda meets Darry's eyes over Pony's prone body before answering.

"Yeah, y'did, buddy," he runs his fingers over the bandage on Pony's head. "We thought we were gonna lose you for a moment."

"What happened to my hand?"

"You broke it smashing that Soc's nose to smithereens," Dally piped up, grinning wolfishly at the end of the bed. Pony looks at him in surprise, as if he's only jut realised other people are in the room. "Who knew little Ponyboy Curtis could throw such a punch?"

Pony smiles, "Hey, Dally."

Dally's smile grows, and Darry knows he's not imagining the adoring in the older boys eyes, the affection that is normally just reserved for Johnny. "Hey, Pony."

"Johnny okay?" 

"He's all good, little man. Docs given him a decent bill of health," Dally replies, a slight lie, but no ones going to call him out on it. "He wanted to come see you when he heard you were in here, but m'pretty sure you'll be able to see him before he can get outta bed."

Pony grins. "I'll go see him as soon as these two let me move."

Soda laughs and Darry glowers at him, but it barely lasts a second before he's smiling. He can't stop damn smiling.

The door opens and the doctor comes in. He checks over Pony's chart and asks his he feels: tired, achy, kind of sick, Pony replies.

The doctor actually smiles at the response. "That's all normal, Ponyboy. We're going to keep you on some pretty strong painkillers for a while so that tired, drowsy feeling is gonna be pretty static. I'm sure your brothers here won't mind you sleeping while you're here."

Pony smiles, soft and young,  _so damn young_ it makes Darry's chest actually ache. 

"You're going to be regularly checked, we're keeping you closely monitored to avoid any complications with your lungs. If you feel anything, even if it's small, don't be afraid to mention it. For now, you just rest up and you. . ." He looks around the room at them all: the two brothers and the three friends. For a small moment, Darry is actually fearful they're going to throw the three boys out, but then the man just nods, "don't keep him awake for too long."

He leaves and the moment the door closes softly behind him with a click, Two-Bit saga against the wall.

"Thought that damn Doc was gonna throw us out," he says, grinning.

"We wouldn't have gone even if he did," Dally adds, and Darry doesn't doubt for a moment that they would have put up a fight till the Doc gave up and let them stay. 

"How you feeling, Pone," Soda asks. 

Pony's head rolls against the pillow to look at him. His blinking is becoming lethargic and Darry knows he's getting tired before he even says it.

"The Doc said you should sleep," Darry says, "Don't fight it, baby. We'll be here when you wake up."

"Y'promise?" Pony mumbles, eyes already slipping closed.

Darry smiles. "We promise."

"Y'swear?"

"I swear, Pony," Darry squeezes his hand. "Now sleep."

He sleeps, and for the first time in a long time, everything is fine.

 

_— fin._

**Author's Note:**

> if I have three boys as children and they don't have the relationship like the Curtis brothers and a friendship group like the Greasers I swear to god


End file.
